


(spoons)

by thethirstisoutthere



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Unremarkable House sex, it takes a bit of a turn..., post-IWTB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 06:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethirstisoutthere/pseuds/thethirstisoutthere
Summary: "Mulder and Scully were partners in every sense. This extended to the way they shared their bed..."





	

Mulder and Scully were partners in every sense. This extended to the way they shared their bed, though they had dedicated sides. She was closest to the door. “In case I ever get the sense to make a run for it,” she once mused. He faced the window so that he could look at the stars.

Mulder always joked that he’d end up in an unremarkable house. Though they had settled down under less than legal circumstances, he soon fell for the serenity of life at the end of the road. He loved his side of the bed, where he could see constellations that never appeared to him in Alexandria (where the light pollution from the capital city obscured the cosmos). How strange, he thought, that the moment when he felt the most disenfranchised from his life’s mission he’d find himself in this place, with a better view of the sky than ever before.

He had no more questions for space, but he did have a healthy appreciation of its aesthetic value. It was beautiful and decidedly not here. Simply out there. Unknowable.

Down on Earth, Mulder and Scully would fall asleep spooning, taking equal turns as the big spoon. Though Scully was smaller, her turn never felt strange, because she felt just as protective of Mulder as he felt of her. She would wrap her leg around Mulder’s waist, pressing her face into his shoulder, noticing tiny constellations of freckles along his back. She would trace them with her fingers and follow their patterns with soft kisses along his skin. After all their years together, she still gave him goosebumps.

Spooning Scully was the only way Mulder would willingly turn from his window facing the sky. He’d pull her soft red hair from behind her ear and kiss her cheek. He’d hold her tight, bringing his hand to her belly. His fingers intertwined with hers. He’d whisper stories to her, rattling off the inane details of his solitary day or his latest crackpot theory. Eventually, she’d doze off. He’d feel his heart swell, holding a tiny, gorgeous soul in his arms.

But sometimes, the feeling of her ass pressed against his groin was too much to bear. He’d nuzzle her neck and run his hands over her silk pyjamas, slide fingers in the spaces between the button holes, draw circles across her skin. He’d slowly unbutton her blouse, opening it to expose her breasts. Bringing his hands to them, he’d graze his fingers across her nipples. Running over her areolae, feeling them swell, he couldn’t see them in the dark, but he could visualize them. Petal pink, roses opening. Feeling his dick harden against the small of her back, he’d bring his hand to the waistband of her silk pyjamas, slipping errant fingers down to her vulva where he could feel her warmth. He’d slide his fingers between her folds, consistently surprised by her wetness (she wanted him, always, even when things were tough). He didn’t remove her pants right away — she had told him once (and once was enough to commit this fact to memory) how she loved to be teased, loved the feeling of his hand bound by her waistband, so she could press firmly against him as his fingers played with her clit.

Eventually, her moans would become too much and Mulder yearned to taste her. He’d make his way down, beneath the covers, between her legs, and yank down her pants in a swift motion. He’d press his hands on each of her thighs, part them slightly, and bring his lips to her centre. As his tongue found its way to her clit, she’d run her fingers through his hair, gasping. God. He was so good. It was never long before she bucked against him, gushing into his mouth, crying to the ceiling.

They were too long into their relationship for her to be embarrassed about how quickly he could make her come. He’d pull away, smiling in the dark, so pleased with himself for bringing her such pleasure.

“Fuck me,” she’d plead to him on her back, legs spread and wanting. He’d guide his stiff cock into her as she inhaled sharply. Still pulsing from her climax, he felt her spasm against him. She felt incredible, so incredible that it would bring him immediately to the brink, but by the grace of God, Mulder could maintain some stamina. Thrusting into her, she’d try to close her legs but he’d put his hands on her knees to try to keep them open. It was a game she loved to play, that kept her in limbo between orgasms — she’d usually come twice in their lovemaking sessions. He knew that he was the only lover that had ever done this for her and wore it like a badge of honour. He’d think on this as he rhythmically moved in and out of her, feeling her squeezing against him. She’d push her hands on his stomach as he’d tried to go deeper, in a feeble attempt to hold him back.

Looking down at Scully, as she writhed on his dick, he’d think… God. She is perfect.

Mulder would guide his hand under her lower back, encouraging her to move onto her side, as he stayed inside of her. He’d place his hand on her ass cheek, and pound her as she bit into her pillow. He’d eventually shift to lie behind her, ending up in the same spoon position that got them in this mess in the first place. He’d move in and out of her slower then faster then slower and faster again. “I’m close,” he’d say, and she’d turn back to kiss him, hard and passionate. The feeling of her tongue in his mouth and his cock deep in her pussy would be too intense. He’d come inside her, shaking from the power it all.

As they kissed deeply, his dick still throbbing, he’d see stars — not out of his window, but in his mind. She’d silently pull away from him, to turn to face him properly. She would stroke his eyebrows, staring lovingly into his eyes. They’d kiss once more before he’d turn his back to her, so that Scully could become the big spoon. They forgave the wet patches beneath them. They felt so good, so warm, that they didn’t mind any residual discomfort from their session.

They were too in love to care about anything other than each other, then.

Now, the times they made love feel like an eternity away. They exist only as a memory that gets Mulder hard and makes him want to touch himself to take his mind off of his soul-crushing loneliness, if only for a few minutes. But the moment he brings himself to come, he realizes that he’s truly left with nothing but his own thoughts (just as she warned him he’d be, if he stayed in his perpetual fog). With his mildly satiated dick limp in his hand, Mulder realizes how he is utterly, pathetically alone.

He lies in bed, thinking of Scully, feeling the empty spot that once belonged to her. He looks out the window, stifling a tear, praying to no God in particular for her return.

Mulder spent years searching for the truth only to find it in his bed.

And now, she’s gone.

All he can do is look out into the night sky. He no longer notices the stars, just the vast, black, and desolate space between them.


End file.
